Lost in the Void, Found in the Stars | Damian Wayne Oneshots

A Dagger for a Rose | Rose Wilson

Aged up Damian ≧﹏≦

Summary: Damian and Rose bump into each other in a run-down convenience store.

.・。.・゜✭・»»--⍟--««.・✫・゜・。.

Rose Wilson sat on the edge of a dusty convenience store counter, popping a bright blue bubble of chewing gum with a practiced smirk, legs swinging as she eyed Damian.

"Waiting for the apocalypse, or just killing time?" Damian asked as he walked in, sparing only a glance at the cracked tile and fluorescent lighting overhead.

"Both, probably. Had to pick up a couple things." She leaned back, nodding toward a bottle of painkillers next to her. Her eye glinted with amusement, half-mocking him as she tilted her head. "What's the matter, rich boy? Run out of Bat-Bucks?"

"More like strategic withdrawal," he replied, lifting a brow. "Sometimes you need to blend in."

She snorted, grabbing the painkillers and tucking them in her jacket pocket. "Doubt you could ever blend in with that whole 'mysterious prince' look."

Damian's eyes narrowed, though the faintest smirk played at his lips. He picked up an old rotary telephone left near the counter, its receiver dangling off the side. "You know, this relic probably has more charm than half the tech in your gear."

"Yeah, yeah. It's vintage," she replied, rolling her eyes and looking away, but not before he noticed a tiny crack in her usual façade.

She wasn't as good at hiding pain as she thought, and he knew better than to call her out on it. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dagger, its metal catching the dim light, revealing little roses scattered around.

"Here. Thought you could use this," he said, handing it over with a rare softness. She looked down, eyes widened a bit. The dagger was truly beautiful, there was a small anatomical heart engraved on the polished black hilt, its guard shaped delicately like thorns—a subtle detail, but elegant nonetheless.

"What's this? Trying to impress me with a knife? Very on-brand," she scoffed, but there was a subtle curiosity in her expression.

"Maybe. It's...well, it's something my mother told me once, a phrase she had," he said, his voice dropping slightly, almost as if he were sharing a secret. "Every rose has its thorns, show me yours and I'll show you a heart that is willing to bleed."

Rose paused, the smirk slipping as her fingers touched the engraving. For once, she didn't have a witty comeback. Instead, she cleared her throat, glancing away, and whispered, "Didn't peg you for the poetic type, Dames."

"There's a lot about me you don't know," he replied simply.

They both fell silent, but it wasn't awkward, no. Rather, it was a comfortable pause in their conversation, allowing their thoughts to roam freely without interruption. They understood each other, in some ways even more than most.

Finally, Rose spoke.

"Well, it's...very nice, thank you," she said, the words almost unfamiliar to her tongue. "But I think I'll stick with my current arsenal." she added, slipping the dagger into a small holster she kept at her belt.